


If Only

by orphan_account



Category: Red Eye (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 04:10:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7493304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Did you miss me?" he asks.</p><p>"Don't," she warns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Only

"Jackson."

"Lise."

She leans on the doorframe, the only thing stopping her from falling. "I thought you were in prison."

His mouth twists into a bitter smile. "If only."  
Lisa's eyes soften in surprise. She realises, looks away for a second with a disbelieving hand over her mouth.

"What happened?" she asks him resignedly.

His voice still has a rasp to it, though his neck is scarred raggedly, but healed. "My organisation got to me before the police did. But I got away."

Lisa folds her arms. They watch each other for what seems like a long time. All of a sudden, she laughs, disbelieving and resentful. "Why are you here?"

"I wanted to see you."

"Are you being serious?"

"I don't know, Lise. Escaping from being tortured, living on the street for weeks, near starving to death just to fucking get here seems pretty serious to me," he snaps, knuckles white from restraining himself.

She shakes her head. "You're crazy."

He ducks his head in acknowledgement.

"You better come in," Lisa says, disgusted with herself. 

Jackson follows her into the house. He knows it as well as she does. He's quite surprised she hasn't moved, but perhaps that's her stubbornness showing.

"Coffee? Tea?" she asks mechanically. He doesn't answer and she turns to look at him.  
"Shit," she mutters, watching him shiver. "Sit down. I'll make you some food. When did you last eat? Sleep?" Suddenly she realises what she's saying. "Oh, God, I _hate_  you."

He can't help but laugh. It's a hollow sound.

The kettle boils. He sits on her couch, the one he's watched her curl up on late at night with a mug of cocoa and cheap thriller. She doesn't read those anymore. Lisa brings him a coffee. She sits next to him.

"Did you miss me?" he asks.

"Don't," she warns.

Jackson nods, sips his drink.

"Six months, it's been," Lisa tells him, avoiding his gaze.

"I know."

"I thought you'd come back. I mean, I suppose I wanted you to. I sleep with a knife under my pillow just in case."

"Yet," he says wryly, "here I am, and I don't see a knife."

"Just because you can't see it doesn't mean it's not there. I'm quite sure you've made the same mistake before."

"I went back for the pen. I've still got it."

She smiles, closing her eyes briefly.

"You know," Lisa says, setting her coffee down and looking him in the eye. "You changed me. I thought another thing happening after the attack would make me even worse. But I... I feel alive again. I know it's silly, and odd."

"It's not."

"Thank you for that," she continues.

"It wasn't really my intention."

"No, I'm sure it wasn't," she hisses, anger flaring up in an instant. "What the hell am I doing? Get out. I don't want you anywhere near me."

He stands, doesn't even finish the drink. Goes to leave.

"Wait," her tired voice comes from the living room.

Jackson waits.

"Come back. Just... come back."

He sits back beside her.

"I'm really tired," she says. "I need to go to bed."

"Then go to bed."

"You can use the bathroom, sleep on the couch. I'm locking the door, but if you want to try it, there are knives in the kitchen drawer," she mutters.

He grins. Then, "Do you want me gone tomorrow?"

Lisa rubs her eyes, exhausted. "Yes. No. I don't know. Whatever."

They look at each other for a brief second, then utter the words at the same time.

"Goodnight, Lise."

"Night."

She locks herself in her bedroom. He takes a shower, uses the sofa throw as a blanket and curls up.

The hours pass. Jackson can't really sleep.  
Lise normally wouldn't be able to sleep at all, but she's so tired.

Every night she's hyper aware of every noise in the house. Her thoughts are taken over by imagining him hiding in the dark corners, waiting to pounce. Now that he's actually here, that tension has drained out of her, months of hyper-vigilance leaving her painfully exhausted. In a scary, strange way, him finally returning is almost comforting.

The nightmares won't stop though. It's either her rapist, or Jackson. She'll wake up screaming or crying for the former; shaking and numb for the latter. Her mind replays the knife cutting through her skin, or the feel of forcing a pen through layers of flesh. Sometimes, she'll throw up.

This time, she wakes. Knows that she isn't alone for the first time in _months_.  
If Jackson is surprised at the door unlocking, Lise creeping quietly into the living room, he doesn't show it.

"Jackson," she whispers, voice soaked with nerves.

"Lise?" he answers, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

She slips under the blanket beside him.

"Watch the knife," he mumbles. He pulls it out from under the cushion and lets it fall to the carpeted floor.

He can hear how fast her heartbeat is as he sits up, pulling her against his chest.

"Nightmare?" he enquires.

"Yeah."

"Me or him?"

She snorts, almost hysterical, unnerved but unsurprised that he knows her that well.

"You."

He doesn't know what to say to that. She laces their fingers together, cries silently.

"I have nightmares too," he says eventually.

"Oh."

"I wake up and I can't breathe."

"Maybe if you hadn't-" she starts angrily.

"I know. I know," he whispers, circling his arms round her waist.

Lisa shivers, rests her head on his shoulder. In the dim light cast from her bedroom, she can see his scars.

Her hands trace them all, ridged pink marks that mar his body, all with a story.

"Someone do that to you?" she asks softly, hovering over a particularly vicious ragged line of twisted scar tissue.

He doesn't answer, just moves her round onto his lap and kisses her. He can taste her tears. Her nails dig into his skin.

"One night," he whispers. "I've got to leave tomorrow."

"Why?"

"I've got another job."

"More terrorism?"

"CIA informant."

She laughs. "I bet you hate yourself."  
He elects not to answer again, just presses another kiss to her lips.

"I hated you for so long," Lisa tells him. "And then you just turn up like the red eye didn't happen. I built up an image of you... this cruel, manipulative, uncaring terrorist... and you come here, starving, hurt, because you want to see me? I don't know how to feel."

"I never hated you."

"I should hope not," she replies. "I never wanted any of this."

"Do you know what Lima Syndrome is?" Of course she does.

She goes still. Her voice is very quiet. "I never liked to think about that."

"I am all of those things, Lise. Cruel, manipulative. Uncaring. A terrorist," he says. "I am also the man you shared a drink with before the flight."

"Doesn't make it better."

"I know it doesn't."

Lisa is just praying, over and over, that this isn't real.

"Will I see you again?"

"Of course."

That is the first time he has ever really lied to her.  
Jackson lies back on the couch.  
She settles down against him and sleeps. No nightmares in sleep, but wakes up to one instead.

When she wakes up in the morning, he isn't there. The knife from the floor is in her hand. There's no proof it wasn't a dream. 


End file.
